


two souls melting shadows

by wariangle



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lagertha remains and Ragnar gets his wish, but not in the way he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two souls melting shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Ignores most of season two.

“I see no reason why you should not get on together. You two are very different, yet both strong,” Ragnar says, and Lagertha already knows where this is going, what he wants. Not for them, not for the children he has sired on them both, not for their village, but for him. She wishes she had her sword by her and could hammer some sense into his thick skull with its pommel.

She does not let him get away; he seeks her eyes, looking for an inkling of her thoughts, but all she says is “Which arrangements?”, forcing him to voice his selfish wants.

Lagertha does not look at Aslaug, but she hears her chime in, and wonders why she – a princess, daughter of a shield-maiden, daughter of a dragon slayer – would want to share with her this man.

In the end she does not reply at all. Not right now. Her mind swirls with thoughts.

 

After Ragnar has finally fallen asleep, tired with food and drink and his own unending attempts to reason with her, Lagertha slips from their bed. She remembers how they, in their youth, at the beginning of their marriage, would fuck all through the night and lay tangled together afterwards, skin heating against skin.

That warmth is long gone from their bed; only slow-glowing embers remain of the wildfire that used to be their love.

She steps quickly through the great hall, easily finding her way through the dark. She has become used to being the earl’s wife – this is her territory now.

Aslaug and her women have been placed in a grand room at the far end and when Lagertha steps inside she find Aslaug awake, her women fast asleep on the floor around.

Refusing to falter in her steps as that piercing gaze fall on her, Lagertha carefully navigates her way towards Aslaug and sits down on the outmost edge of her bed.

“Hello,” Aslaug says softly, and if she wonders what Lagertha is doing in her sleeping quarters in the deep of the night, she shows no sign.

“Why?” Lagertha asks her without accusation in her tone. “What do you want here? With him?”

“He is the father of my child,” Aslaug answers.

“Many men would welcome being the father of your child,” Lagertha says. They both know that the important thing is that the man himself is sure that he’s sired the child in question, no matter the true parentage.

“I grew up an orphan,” Aslaug says softly. “My father I never met; my mother died when I was very young, as I said before. I do not wish the same fate for my son.”

A son.

Ragnar, for all is faults, is a devoted father. There is nothing he would not do to ensure the safety of his children. It is more than that, of course. Ragnar is a powerful man as well and Aslaug is sure she will give him a son.

But, even so, Lagertha’s choice is made. “I wish you many,” she says and Aslaug clearly understands it as the goodbye it is meant to be because when Lagertha rises, Aslaug catches her by the hand.

“I would have you stay,” she says, with an unexpected intensity in her voice.

Lagertha can feel her eyes, heavy and penetrating, on her. Her own drift to the swell of breasts under Aslaug’s shift, the way her golden hair fall across the slender column of her neck, where the soft skin begs to be marked by a not so tender mouth.

Aslaug is a very handsome woman. Lagertha has yet to confess to herself that she does not know quite from which way the larger part of her jealousy stems.

Her eyes cannot help but linger over the soft rise of Aslaug’s bosom, drift over the sharp planes of her collarbones and beautiful hands and have done so throughout the evening as well. It is not the first time a woman has awakened Lagertha’s lusts; neither would it be the first time she has acted on them. But the way she is drawn to Aslaug astounds her – the Götaland princess fascinates her unexpectedly. If Lagertha is steel, with sharp enough an edge to her to never allow anyone to break her, Aslaug is willow, strong yet malleable to the wind lest she be defeated by it.

With a wary question in her eyes, Lagertha bends down slowly and, when Aslaug does nothing to hinder her, runs her thumb along Aslaug’s lower lip before she moulds their mouths together. Aslaug’s hand goes around her neck, to hold her down, pull her in. It is slow but smouldering – wetness between them as their mouths open to let their tongues meet.

Lagertha gasps softly as she feels the heat spreading between her legs, wetting her cunt. It has been too long since last she felt like this, she realises, since pure want coursed through her body, absent worry, absent silent pleas to the gods for seed to take hold in her empty womb.

With greedy hands she slips the shift off Aslaug’s shoulders, bares her body beneath. She strokes one hand over an erect nipple, causing Aslaug to make a soft noise deep in her throat, but then the princess pulls away.

“I’ve,” she says and swallows. Her chest heaves and arousal colours her cheeks red, visible even in the dusk. “I have never…” She trails of, but the meaning is more than evident.

Lagertha is surprised, looks around the rooms at Aslaug’s many sleeping women. “Never?”

Aslaug laughs softly at her, shakes her head. “Never.”

“But you want to?”

“I want to,” Aslaug says, nodding.

Lagertha stands up to lose her own shift and slides into bed with her, laying on her side to accommodate for Aslaug’s bulging stomach. Her hands pass briefly over a purplish mark where the skin has stretched too quickly to accommodate for the growing babe and down between Aslaug’s legs. Aslaug pulls in a sharp breath through her nose and her thighs part welcomingly.

Lagertha’s fingers slide into her like nothing – she is swollen and almost dripping with need. Lagertha wonders if it’s the pregnancy or her, but when Aslaug presses up against her, bare breasts against bare breasts, a kiss-hungry mouth taking hers, she decides its unimportant.

Aslaug swears quietly as Lagertha’s thumb finds the small, sensitive centre of her pleasure and Lagertha has to supress a surprised laugh, not expecting such words to come from the princess’ pretty mouth.

She bends down, pressing biting kisses to Aslaug’s throat, and takes a nipple in her mouth, sucking harshly and letting Aslaug feel her teeth. Her free hand comes up to cup the other breast, fingers pinching the nipple.

“Lagertha,” Aslaug murmurs; _begs_ , really, and Lagertha can feel her desperation in how she writhes against her, pushes harder against the hand working away inside of her. “Lagertha, _please_.”

She is flushed and panting and Lagertha takes pity on her. “On your back,” she whispers and Aslaug complies as Lagertha slides down her body without stilling the movements of her hand.

She is eager to taste Aslaug, put stops just short of her goal, presses a kiss to Aslaug’s lower stomach, right at the edge of the bulge and cards the fingers of her free hand through the patch of hair below it.

“Are you sure about this?” she teases with a grin. “After this, you will never contend with Ragnar alone for lover again.”

Reaching down, Aslaug grabs hold of Lagertha’s chin. “Fuck me,” she says seriously and opens her thighs. At that Lagertha can do nothing but slide further down and put her mouth on her.

Aslaug is wonderfully responsive against Lagertha’s tongue, and Lagertha grips at her thighs, feeling the muscle spasm, to spread her even wider, until she can reach the very core of her. Aslaug muffles deep sounds of pleasure against her own hand, the fingers of the other tangling in Lagertha’s hair, pulling at it harshly.

Holding her open with her thumbs, Lagertha fucks into her with her tongue, licking the juices out of her and causing the princess’ entire body to thrash on the bed.

Lagertha works her hard with tongue and fingers until Aslaug arches off the bed, a high moan slipping from her mouth as her arm falls to grab a handful of the furs.

Slowly, Lagertha moves back up her body, kisses her hips, breasts and collarbones warmly, before finding her lips again. Aslaug’s cheek burns hot against her hand.

“Here,” Aslaug says, with an edge of breathlessness to her voice, “let me…” A little clumsily her fingers find their way between Lagertha’s legs, sliding along her cunt, getting her fingertips wet until she reaches her clit. Lagertha moves carefully to her side and hitches a leg over Aslaug’s hip to give her room to move her hand.

Aslaug moves in closer, twisting her arm slightly to keep up with the tight, circling motion, and kisses Lagertha warmly. “Good?”

“By Frejya, _yes_.” Lagertha’s eyes flutter shut and she grabs a handful of Aslaug’s hair, lets it slip from her fingers in a lingering caress. She puts her mouth back on Aslaug, lets her gasps and groans fall against Aslaug’s throat as she sucks a mark into the delicate skin there.

She comes less explosively than Aslaug, the orgasm spreading through her like warm mead poured into her bones, shattering her mind slowly and thoroughly.

Gently, Aslaug pulls her fingers free of her cunt and wipes them off on her own thigh.

Lagertha moves languidly, stretching, and rests her head on Aslaug’s shoulder. She breathes in deeply, trying to regain her bearings.

Brushing her hand along Lagertha’s arm, Aslaug turns for another kiss, a soft press of lips.

“Say you will stay,” she says.

Lagertha casts down her eyes and hums noncommittally, but slides her hand down to Aslaug’s stomach and feels the child flutter in response to her touch.

 

“I am surprised,” Siggy tells her. “I had not thought you would chose to remain here.”

Lagertha smiles, but does not turn from the weave. “Neither did I,” she says.

“If it is for Bjorn’s sake…”

“No,” Lagertha says. “It is not only for Bjorn’s sake. This is my home.”

“And Aslaug?” Siggy seems perplexed, but glad. Glad that Lagertha is not leaving, and that warms Lagertha’s heart, makes her words ring even truer.

“What about her?” she says carefully.

“Do you get along? Will this marriage work?”

“Yes,” Lagertha, catching Aslaug’s ever intense gaze across the room as she feels it trail over her. “I believe it will.”

 

Ragnar, initially very pleased with Lagertha’s decision, grows moody as Aslaug soon kicks him out of her bed. She is late in her pregnancy and her discomfort worsens for every day as the child grows heavier in her womb.

“It is not easy work, giving men sons,” Lagertha comments as she brings Aslaug a cup of water in bed, which Aslaug accepts gratefully.

“Come lay down with me,” Aslaug says, putting the emptied cup aside, and Lagertha complies.

The warmth of Aslaug’s body against her own is familiar by now. She curls a hand around Aslaug’s neck, presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Is it easier to kill them?” Aslaug asks and it takes a moment for Lagertha to realise what her question is a response to.

“It’s quicker, at least,” Lagertha replies easily with a quiet laugh.

They settle in together, rearrange themselves until Lagertha’s is curled up around Aslaug, her hand at kneading the aching muscles in Aslaug’s lower back. Lagertha has spent more nights in Aslaug’s bed than in her own, lately. Ragnar dares not say a word; he is too glad the two of them seem to get along. He does not know how many of those nights his wives spend with their hands on each other, coaxing sublime pleasure from the other’s flesh. He does not know of the bond between them.

Aslaug turns her head for a kiss goodnight and Lagertha grants it, feels how Aslaug smiles against her mouth. She smiles back.

 

Aslaug’s contractions start early in the morning and by eveningfall she is tired and annoyed and still hours from giving birth.

“The first child always takes long,” Siggy says, wiping Aslaug’s sweaty forehead with a cloth. “But I believe he will see it fit to come into this world before morning,” she adds, but those words are of little comfort to Aslaug right there and then.

Time passes slowly in the birth room and when it is finally close, Aslaug is exhausted, with sweat and tears streaking her face.

“You have to push harder,” Siggy commands her from between her spread legs and Aslaug cries out in response as the pain sears through her womb again. “ _Harder_!”

“I can’t!” Having battled the pain all day, her strength is depleted. She cries out again as another contraction rips through her. She is close to giving up.

“Here.” Lagertha leaves her side to climb in behind her on the bed. The sheets are damp with sweat. “I am here, understood?”

Aslaug nods and Lagertha twines their hands together.

“You can do this,” she tells Aslaug. “There is no one but you that can bring him into the world. You have to push. Hold on and push. _Now_.”

And Aslaug does. Lagertha can feel how her body tenses against her as she labours to birth their son.

“I can see the head,” Siggy announces and Aslaug pushes again and again, has finally found the rhythm of it and the last resources of strength. Lagertha guides her through it with encouraging words and gentle hands and finally the babe slips free from her body and into Siggy’s waiting hands.

He is swiftly washed off and placed in his mother’s arms.

“He needs a name,” Lagertha says softly, still with her arms around Aslaug.

“Ubbe,” Aslaug says. “His name is Ubbe.”

 

King Horik is visiting to discuss the boat building and the raids he and Ragnar are planning in the future and a great feast is put forth. The mead flows freely and as the evening progresses, Lagertha feels possessive hands on her hips and smells Aslaug’s unique scent as the princess moulds herself against her back.

“Dance with me,” she murmurs.

“The mead has taken to your head,” Lagertha replies. Even so she is warmed by the nearness and Aslaug’s evident happiness.

“Dance with me, my shield-maiden,” Aslaug repeats, turning Lagertha in her arms.

They are drawing glances – people grin and laugh at them as they sway none to gracefully together and Siggy claps her hands.

Lagertha laughs loudly as Aslaug spins her around. She almost loses her balance and has grab hold of Aslaug to keep upright, which makes her laugh even more and Aslaug laughs with her and spins her around again and again.

 

The next morning, Aslaug seeks her out as she is weaving. Her eyes are bleary from drink and lack of sleep, but she is still achingly beautiful.

Her hands join Lagertha’s in working the weave and after a long moment, she says, “I think I have lost my heart to you.”

Lagertha squeezes her hand and tells her that she loves her too.

 

Lagertha has Aslaug spread out on the furs, fingers buried deep inside of her and Aslaug is panting out her name with every rapid rise of her chest. Lagertha kisses her deeply as she fucks her, bites down on her lower lip and pulls away with it. She is rough, holding Aslaug down with the weight of her body, pushing hard against her and driving Aslaug to madness from it. Her nails rake down Lagertha’s back and she is so very close; Lagertha knows exactly how to work her body by now.

“Come for me, princess,” she growls in her ear. She kisses Aslaug’s mouth, but Aslaug is too gone to kiss back. She bows her back and sobs out her release. Lagertha keeps going at her until Aslaug has to bite down on her collarbone to stifle the scream that Lagertha’s clever fingers drag from her.

Lagertha collapses on top of her, bears her down into the mattress. They kiss, slow but heated, passing something that words cannot express between them.

Aslaug pulls away and laughs breathlessly. “The things you do to me, my shield-maiden.”

Lagertha grins at her and moves in for another kiss when a movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks up and sees Ragnar’s back, as he hurriedly walks out of the bedroom.

 

She finds him in the great hall, petting one of the baby goats. She sits down next to him.

“You are having sex with my wife,” he says and Lagertha almost expects him to pout.

“Well, you did want us to share,” Lagertha says. “Now you have to share, too.”

“You are my wives.”

“Yes,” Lagertha says. “And I am a shield-maiden. Aslaug, a princess. We are the mothers of your children. We are women, and weavers. We are many things. Are you sulking because we do not fight over you?”

He gives her a dirty look in response.

 

Early in autumn, Aslaug gives birth to Hvitserk and by next winter she is heavy with child again.

Ragnar announces his raid. Lagertha considers whether or not to go with; she hungers for the taste of the salty wind of the sea and the thrill of battle, but she is loathe to leave Aslaug behind, with little occupy her but waiting for the delivery of Ragnar’s fourth son.

“You should go,” Aslaug tells her quietly one night in bed. She keeps shifting, finding it difficult to lay comfortable with her large stomach. “I see you victorious, with your face streaked with blood and your sword high in the air.” Aslaug smiles and leans over to steal a soft, lingering kiss.

Lagertha caresses her cheek as she smiles helplessly back. She has learnt to trust Aslaug’s prophesies; the princess sees things no one else can.

“Will you be fine?” Lagertha asks, meaning not just the birth. There is an uneasy feeling in her bones and she is sure Aslaug feels it as well.

“You will return to me,” is all Aslaug offers in reply and tugs Lagertha in for another kiss.

 

Their raid is successful and Lagertha returns with more kills to her name and weighted with treasure. Helga meets them, tells them of what has happened.

It as if Lagertha’s heart stops in her chest and doesn’t resume beating until Helga has led them to the farmhouse where Aslaug, Siggy and the rest of them are hiding out. She hugs Siggy to her as Ragnar greet his wife and Siggy clutches at her.

“Thank the Gods you are back!” she says and Lagertha can only nod as she presses her friend closer to her.

Aslaug has given birth, of course.

“Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye,” she says as she reaches the bundle out for Lagertha to hold. Another prophecy come true.

Lagertha leans against Aslaug and smiles at the cooing baby. She rocks him gently to side by side. During all these years her womb as remained empty. It is no wonder with how seldom she lets Ragnar into her bed anymore, and she does not grieve. She loves Aslaug’s sons as if she had birthed them herself.

“I did say you would return,” Aslaug says.

“For my sake, turn your eye on yourself,” Lagertha says. “If I had known what would come, I would never have left you.”

Aslaug presses her hand. “You are here now. All will be set right.”

 

They take their village back. At a dear cost – many warriors fallen and the grain stores burnt – but they do take it back. Months pass and all is back to normal. Aslaug is with child again and this time Lagertha cannot help but worry for her. The child seems adamant to torture his mother at every turn, causing her to groan in pain and spend more time in bed than on her feet.

“She is not in danger,” Siggy has to reassure Lagertha time and again. “Sometimes, pregnancy is hard. I keep close watch over her. For now, all she can do is rest.”

Lagertha spends every night in Aslaug’s bed, curled around her, massaging the muscles in her back or rubbing the stretched skin over her bulging stomach. Difficuly pregnancies do not necessarily end in miscarriage or a difficult birth, but the risk is greater. Siggy has assured her that if it comes to that, she will do whatever is required to save Aslaug’s life. Ragnar already has sons.

 

She is not meant to, but she overhears Aslaug and Siggy as they talk during their weaving. Siggy keeps close to Aslaug, and for that Lagertha is grateful. She is moving to join them, but stops at Aslaug’s lowly spoken words.

“I have never had such a pregnancy. So much pain. I am afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Siggy asks, clearly concerned.

“When Ragnar came to the farmhouse he wanted to have sex,” Aslaug says, keeping her eyes on the weave. “I told him if he forced himself on me in the first three days of his return I would bear him a monster.”

Aslaug keeps speaking, but Lagertha does not listen for more. She is fine sharing Aslaug with their husband, but for this she will not stand.

That night she goes into Ragnar’s bedroom. He is surprised and it is an easy thing to press him to the floor and pound her fist into his face. He is drunk and blinks confusedly up at her as he splutters blood.

She hits him again. “If you ever force yourself on Aslaug again,” Lagertha says, her voice low and menacing, “I will kill you. I will strip the skin from your flesh and feed it to the ravens. I will crush your heart and your lungs with my bare hands. I will kill you in your sleep and you will never enter Valhalla. You are a disgrace of a man, Ragnar Lothbrok, and if you ever lay hand on her against her will, I will _destroy you_.”

She leaves him there on the floor, his face smeared with blood.

 

There is bruising as a result, of course. When they partake of morning meal and Ragnar shows up late with his eye closed and blackened, Aslaug’s gaze immediately snaps to Lagertha, but she says nothing. Instead she commands a servent to fetch cloth and cold water and do what she can for the swelling.

At midday, Lagertha is out training new warriors for the coming raids when Aslaug comes to find her.

“You should not have done it,” Aslaug says when Lagertha pauses for a sip of water. “This is why I did not tell you.”

“You _should_ have told me,” Lagertha says, tersely. “What he did will never be repeated.”

“I am thankful,” Aslaug says. She winces and shifts as the baby apparently kicks inside her. “But I would not have you go between me and Ragnar without talking to me first.”

“Understood,” Lagertha says after a short pause, because after all Aslaug is right even though Lagertha decided not to see that before.

 

Aslaug almost dies bringing Ivar into the world. Despite knowing that the boy will never have a decent life, Lagertha helps her fight for him. If he does not live, Aslaug’s suffering would be for naught.

“Thank you,” Aslaug tells her after Ragnar has agreed to let the child live. She is in her room, breastfeeding Ivar with Lagertha keeping her company. “I know you think me a fool for not… Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” Lagertha says. “If I but could, I would make sure nothing would ever bring you pain.” She runs her fingers through Aslaug’s hair, smiles down at the baby who sucks greedily. Beside his leg, he is healthy. He will live, at least. For that Lagertha is grateful.

 

It does not happen often, but this night they have all had their minds pleasantly clouded with mead in celebration of a profitable raid. The three of them stumble into bed, a tangle of limbs and searching hands.

Ragnar is behind her, his beard scratching against her neck as he kisses her there. His hand moves to her waist as he positions himself, pushing inside with one long stroke. Aslaug is beneath her, beautiful and eager for kisses, and between them she murmurs Lagertha’s name again and again. Her hand steals between Lagertha’s legs and her fingers move in circling motions, causing the pleasure to burn through Lagertha’s body. Lagertha clutches at her as Ragnar picks up the pace, moving faster inside of her and they finish almost at the same time.

A long time later, Lagertha falls asleep and when she awakes the next morn, Aslaug’s hand is resting low on her stomach.

“You will have a daughter,” she murmurs with a smile.

 

Lagertha gives birth in winter and names the girl Brynhildr.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


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